What if Anakin Lost?
by Lady Courage
Summary: Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Anakin had lost the pod-race?


**A/N: **

**Wow, it's been a long time since I've posted anything here! But now that I've started a routine of writing for at least an hour a day, you may see a bit more of me now. ;) But I make NO promises! :P**

**One other thing... I know I've said that this isn't my usual style. And it isn't. But, it's just that, I somehow feel that my goofy stuff is more entertaining than my serious stuff, so that's what I share. Sorry. :P**

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**Star Wars**

**EPISODE 1/3**

_**What if Anakin Lost?**_

Obi-Wan gave an exasperated sigh. Immediately afterwards he flicked his eyes hurriedly in the direction of his master, Qui-gon. Qui-gon seemingly hadn't noticed, but just the same, Obi-Wan felt a wave of guilt for his frustration. Of course, it wasn't as though he didn't have good reason to be irritated. He was standing in the blazing sun-light, the heat throbbing up from the golden sand and beating his sweating body, watching his last hope for escape be carried away. The ship they had arrived in, still in good condition, only missing one part. But since Anakin had lost the pod race, the ship, which Qui-gon had bet, was now Watto's. He was hovering near the banthas and their drivers that were hauling the Naboo ship back to his shop. It would probably be sold with the part installed for a price more ridiculous than Obi-Wan could even imagine. The thought of someone else getting Queen Amidala's spacecraft made Obi-Wan grit his teeth in anger.

Watto fluttered by with a rough laugh now and said, "Heh heh, you sometimes win, you sometimes don't eh? Heh heh, good doin' busi-ness with 'ya, eh." He chugged away, chuckling.

Obi-Wan winced and looked to his master. Qui-gon was impassive, silent. Pity flooded Obi-Wan's heart, as he saw various members of Queen Amidala's crew give Qui-gon sideways glances. It wasn't his fault, Obi-Wan reasoned. There was no other way to get the part they needed, so what else could Qui-gon do? But now the question was, how were they going to get a new ship? They didn't have nearly enough money to buy one. Obi-Wan caught himself gnawing his nether lip and quickly stopped himself. It was a childish habit that he had been struggling to break for years, but always popped up when he was under stress.

One by one, the crew drifted away from Qui-gon and formed a desolate little group, standing with shoulders hunched to the wind that was blowing the gritty sand into their eyes.

Blinking the sand out of his own eyes, Obi-Wan turned his face upwards and looked inquiringly into Qui-gon's face. "What now, Master?" he asked.

"There is little that _can_ be done now," replied Qui-gon, with a dead ring to his voice that alarmed Obi-Wan.

"Well, _surely_ we can do _something_," he said, in almost a pleading tone.

Qui-gon sensed his padawan's unrest and questioning mind, and his desire to act. It made him smile a little. "We can work."

* * *

"This is not exactly what I had in mind..." muttered Obi-Wan a few days later. Things had taken a bizarre turn since the day they had seen the last of their ship. "I never dreamed that Jedi ever flipped hamburgers." But there he was, adorned with a grease-stained white apron over his newly purchased Tatooine tunic, flipping burgers at a greasy-spoon sort of diner. The owner, Hex, was a large, heavy, four armed creature, jovial, friendly and likable. He had hired Obi-Wan without hesitation and with a friendly slap on the back that had nearly knocked the padawan over. Qui-gon had told Obi-Wan to keep his true profession a secret, and so had very quietly wished the Force to be with him when he left. What everyone else was doing to earn money for the new spacecraft Obi-Wan didn't know. He had been left to do what he must with no information for his young and active mind to ponder. This made him very curious, and his mind was wandering over various possibilities when a pop and a screeching grinding sort of noise from behind him made him start and whirl. His well-trained Jedi reflexes were going for his lightsaber hidden under his tunic, but he caught himself in time. The sound came from the old dish-washing droid. One of its arms had lost a bolt, and it was still trying to work without it.

"Hold on a moment," said Obi-Wan, putting a hand on it, "Stop and I'll fix you u- Stop!" And the droid's weakened arm, persistently trying to pick up another plate, lost its hold and the plate began it's decent to the ground. Before he could stop himself, Obi-Wan had it back in his hand with a Force pull. _Blast!_ He thought, and discreetly glanced around to see if anybody saw the move. But no-one seemed to have noticed, and he let out his breath with relief. "Alright," he continued, "just slow down and take a break for just a few minutes, and I'll-" he broke off again with a sudden sense of a tremor in the Force. He paused and let the Force speak to his feelings, then cautiously sniffed. "Oh, _blast_!" he cried suddenly and crossed the kitchen in one Jedi leap. The burgers were rather done, but not quite burnt. He raised his hands, without thinking, and the whole lot of burgers began to lift into the air simultaneously. _Oops,_ he thought, and let the burgers drop again. Down they came with one greasy plop. Grabbing the spatula, he flipped them all one by one with great speed and dexterity. Then he turned and hopped back to the dish-washing droid.

"Now, it'll be only a minute and you'll be good as-" he hesitated, looking at the rust-encrusted plates of metal hammered on its body, the dents and nicks and cracks covering its surface, and finished, "- uh, good as you were."

Obi-Wan glanced around for the missing bolt, but it was nowhere to be seen. Pausing all movement of his body, he closed his eyes and reached out with his feelings to find the bolt. Letting his feelings guide him, he reached under a large, silver table loaded with dishes and used a force pull to draw the bolt to him. There underneath the table, no-one saw how he found the bolt.

In a few minutes he had installed the missing part in the droid and was back at his burgers. He heard the front door's bell dingle and a jolly voice called out-

"Hex! Old buddy, where are 'ya? I come all the way from the Republic's core just to visit you, and 'ya don't show up. Hex!"

Obi-Wan was puzzled, because the voice sounded like Hex's voice. He bent down to peer under the greasy sneeze-guard and out over the shelf where the food from the kitchen was put to be served. Standing by the door-way was someone who looked just like Hex, and when he began to call out again, still sounded like him!

"_Hex_! I s'pose yer doin' this on purpose?"

"No, no, just tryin' to make muh way through this wilderness of dishes towards 'ya"

The identical creatures embraced each other affectionately.

"Dex!" cried Hex (the one who had come out of the kitchen), "It's ben so long!"

"Shore has," agreed Dex (the one who come through the front door), "How've you ben all this time?"

"Tolerable, tolerable," grinned Hex, "You?"

"The same! Opened a new restaurant down in Coruscant and that's ben purty interesting. Kept me busy, that's fur shur!"

Obi-Wan was so absorbed in watching the strange twins that it took a second for him to notice the sound of squealing metal behind him. Just as he noticed the Force whispering to him about it and heard the awful din, something fell on his head, bouncing off the hat that he wore backyards to hide his padawan's braid and ponytail. He stiffened and turned about slowly. The sight that his horrified eyes beheld was one of utter _chaos_. The French fry cutting machine was malfunctioning and the potatoes were spewing from it wildly in every direction, half cut, mashed and whole at the rate of a blaster cannon. It was one of the half-cut potatoes that had landed on his head. Obi-Wan face-palmed with a groan. What a job.

He took a quick peek between his fingers; saw the kitchen was empty except for the droids and stretched out a hand to the now smoking French fry cutting machine. With a whine, groan and a few more puffs of smoke, the machine came to a grinding halt, half mashed potatoes oozing out of the mouth.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan lowered his hand and walked to the machine, opening one of its panels to look at the wires. Everything was blackened by the smoke and there were so many fried wires that Obi-Wan face-palmed again, smearing soot onto his face. He peered in deeper, poking his head in just a little to get a better look. The Force warned him of the approaching creature behind him and even warned him that it was about to speak. It did _not_ warn him about its volume.

"Obi! What _are_ you doing?" Hex thundered in a surprised tone of voice. His deep bass reverberated inside the metal machine, gaining immense volume and hammered into Obi-Wan's head with terrible pain. He started violently and jerked his head out of the hole- foreseeably striking his head on the edge with teeth rattling force. This elicited a soft moan from the padawan and he gingerly touched the sore spot that was rapidly swelling. Hex tsk-tsk'd sympathetically.

"Just… Trying to fix the French fry machine, Hex," he murmured.

Hex peered into the dark hole and made an exclamation of disgust. "No use fixing _that_ Obi-Wan. It's been dying a slow death for weeks now, but I guess that was it."

Images of hurtling potatoes flitted through Obi-Wan's mind. "Sure were some violent death throes then."

Hex exploded with hearty laughter and Obi's head exploded with pain as the sound waves crashed into his currently sensitive ears.

"Um, I'll just… Um, start chopping then…" He inched away from the loud Besalisk in an effort to let his head settle down.

Grabbing a knife in a different part of the kitchen, Obi-Wan set to work chopping potatoes. It was dull and monotonous, but gave him a chance to reach into the Force and let it strengthen his head as it pulled out the pain. He breathed in and out, releasing his feelings into the Force and sensing its peace and light fill him. Because his focus was deep within the Force, he was well aware of the creature that came up behind him. He even knew it was Dex, the Besalisk who looked just like Hex. He felt the creature's emotions and wondered why he sensed astonishment and incredulity. Then he looked at his hands. All the time he was meditating, his hands had continued to chop potatoes. As the Force filled him and strengthened his head, it had touched his hands as well. Obi was horrified to see them chopping madly, blurring slightly with the Force-enhanced speed, every french fry turning out as even and perfect as the machine would have done.

Obi-Wan colored slightly and his hands wavered and slowed. The look on Dex's face was priceless.

"Uh, heh heh…" laughed Obi half-heartedly. "I, uh, heh heh, got carried away… I guess…"

"I _guess_!" breathed Dex. "Boy, I've never _seen_ such choppin'!"

Obi-Wan's face turned a tad pinker. What would Master Qui-Gon say if he found out that his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was being complimented and admired for his _potato_ chopping skills? The very thought took Obi's breath away.

"Um… Thank you, sir," he murmured in a half choked way.

Dex looked at him keenly, "What's the matter, son?"

"Nothing!" laughed Obi-Wan in a little too cheerful manner, "nothing at all!"

"Just don't take compliments well, do 'ya?" Dex smiled kindly.

Obi choked again, "Uh, I guess not, sir…"

Dex slapped him on the back with a laugh, "Well, keep it up and Hex won't need that machine after all!"

Again, Obi choked.

A few days later, Qui-Gon came to visit his padawan and asked him how everything was working out. Obi told him cheerily that all was well. But when his Master gave him a sideways look, Obi-Wan knew he sensed his embarrassment and restlessness. But Qui-Gon smiled gently and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're doing just fine, Obi."

It was Obi's turn to smile, "Thank you, Master."

Qui-Gon lifted his hand from Obi-Wan's shoulder and immediately changed the subject. "I've arranged for you to take lunch to some of the others who are also working. I've written their locations on a map and settled on a price for the lunches with the owner here." He smiled, "This will also be a chance for you to get out."

"Yes, Master."

This was the beginning of a new routine for Obi-Wan. He worked until after the lunch hour rush then took bagged lunches to a few of the members of Queen Amidala's crew. Padme was among them. She worked beneath a tent, sorting out different kinds of shale. Obi couldn't at first glance tell the difference, but Padme assured him there was a difference and it was very important. When he asked why, she shrugged and replied it was important to avoid being shouted at by her employer. "Oh…" was his response.

He really did like getting out of the stuffy kitchen, but somehow it never seemed he could quite get away from it. Always in the back of his mind he could hear the oil sputtering and smell the burgers and potatoes and everything else. It rather disturbed him, actually, and he wondered if he would have the doings of a kitchen forever branded into his brain. He imagined a duel in which he was flipping and spinning, slashing his lightsaber, blocking lightsaber blows by his opponent- and the entire time the sound of sizzling oil and the smell of burning hamburgers were playing over and over again in his brain, distracting him and making his mouth water even though he was so sick of it by now that it didn't actually sound good…

He shook his head to rid himself of the nightmare and glanced up to find that the tables in the restaurant were mostly cleared off. Hex was carrying the lunch bags in his four hands and coming to give them to him. Obi went to meet him and thoughtfully left the restaurant with hands full. Systematically he handed out the lunches and, as usual, gave Padme hers last because she was the farthest away. He had said nothing to any of the others, but that was normal because he sensed the blame they were laying on Qui-Gon and by extension of association, himself as well. Not that he held it against them exactly, but it didn't make for good relations.

Padme broke into his reveries in a bright tone of voice that Obi sensed was an effort to cheer him up, "You know, it's a funny thing: Every time I see you, I _always_ get suddenly very hungry."

Obi froze and the sound of sizzling oil rose in his brain. _Oh Force!_ He thought with something next to panic, _OTHER people pick up on it too?_

"Um, that's very interesting!" he commented coolly enough, but his brain was racing. _I've __**got**__ to get out of here before I'm scarred for life!_

From then on he concentrated on finding a solution. He dug through his brain and when he found it empty of ideas (which was also a disturbing realization), he turned to the Force. When he bathed in its pure light and let it flow through him, he found that not only did he feel more peaceful, but also he always knew when something was about to go wrong. This was so very helpful that he found himself leaning on it more consistently than he ever remembered doing in his life. But then, he'd never been in a situation where danger lurked just around the corner all day, every day.

Dex stayed for a couple of weeks and Obi-Wan still had not found a solution to his problem. But one day he heard Dex and Hex talking…

"I just heard about a contest bein' held by the 'Chop Chop Potatoes' company," although Obi-Wan couldn't tell the difference between the Besalisk's voices, he could now read their Force signatures well enough to know who was talking. This was Dex speaking.

"Yeah, so did I. What about it?"

"I was thinkin' you could enter it."

"What! Now _why_ would 'ya think I even _could_ enter that?"

"Why wouldn't you? All that cash to both restaurant and the cook they enter, not to mention one of their French fry cutting machines… What's to lose?"

"Eh, but every restaurant in the outer rim will be entering! We don't stand a chance. Besides, who would I enter?"

"Your new cook."

"What?"

Dex chuckled, "He's _quite_ the potato chopper, if 'ya haven't noticed. I think he stands a pretty good chance!"

"Even against all the outer rim restaurants?"

"Even against all the outer rim restaurants."

"Hmm…" Obi-Wan saw Hex glance at him curiously.

"If I weren't stationed in the Republic," commented Dex, "I'd be tryin' to steal that kid away from you and enter myself. But, since it isn't open to restaurants in the Republic…"

"Is the entrance fee high?"

"There is no entrance fee."

"Oh… Why?"

"Why do you think? It's huge advertising! The whole contest will be aired live for all the Outer Rim to see! They're _dying_ for as many folks to enter as possible!"

Obi-Wan felt shivers run up and down his spine. Aired live? Like, so people all over the universe could watch people chop potatoes? He groaned softly.

"How much is the reward?"

"Enough to build a new location for your business that's even nicer than this. The cook gets almost as much too."

Obi's ears perked at this disclosure. Enough to build a restaurant? Would that be enough to buy an airship? But even if it was… He shuddered in horror at the thought of chopping potatoes in front of billions of people. Him. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Chopping potatoes to sell potato chopping machines. No, no. It was just too ridiculous!

That was the end of the conversation at the moment, but Obi caught Hex looking at him thoughtfully multiple times after that. It always sent shivers up and down his spine and he wondered just how seriously Hex was taking the suggestion. Unfortunately, the Force seemed to be whispering to him _It's serious_, but he tried very hard to ignore its voice. At least in that respect.

Finally, a few days after that disturbing conversation, Hex approached Obi-Wan and the Force screamed _Danger_. Inwardly, Obi groaned.

"Obi-Wan, what would you say to entering a contest?"

Sweat broke out on Obi's brow and his mouth went dry as the butterflies slammed around in his stomach. "Um… What sort of contest?"

"A potato chopping contest!"

Obi's knees went weak and he had to draw on the Force to keep himself standing. He could almost see his reputation packing its bags and waving bu-bye. "When… When will it be?"

"We'll have to put our application in by tonight. Then the contest is in two weeks."

Obi-Wan did a quick mental calculation. Nope, there was no way they could have earned enough to buy a ship in that time and time was something they had very little of. The Force was prodding him again, showing him the obviousness of his choice. In the whole grand scheme of things, his choice _was_ obvious. But was the entire planet of Naboo worth his own personal reputation? The answer was, in fact, quite simple.

"Yes. Yes I'd be glad to enter!" he lied and tried to make the portion of his heart that was concerned with his reputation follow the portion of his heart that would sacrifice itself for anything he deemed worthy.

* * *

Looking back, everything was rather dream like. In desperation to keep his composure, Obi-Wan had buried himself into the Force, letting it wash over him and flow through him soothingly. The millions of contestants and the billions of cameras around him were gratingly distracting and the sound of utensil on board multiplied by millions was enough to give the toughest head a headache. He had vaguely understood that the contestants would be weeded out as soon as the contest began, so that the cameras would know which ones to focus on. But Obi tried not to pay attention; he only concentrated on chopping, chopping, chopping- and not thinking about how utterly ridiculous, embarrassing and reputation-shattering his current situation was. Slamming a lid on the faint chantings of "Watch out for Obi-Wan: he can slice you up like a French fry" in his head, he strove to release his feelings into the Force. Eventually, he had become aware of a great many cameras pointed in his direction, but tried to ignore them. He noticed that the room seemed quieter, but he tried to ignore it. He noticed that he was sweating profusely, but he tried to ignore that too. It wasn't until there was a deafening scream from the crowd that he finally looked up…

Only to be handed a golden potato that was blossoming into French fries on one end.

* * *

A week later, the whole of Queen Amidala's crew, including a very humble and grateful little Anakin, was on board a brand spankin' new ship, headed for Coruscant.

"I still can't quite believe that we managed to scrape up this much money so quickly, Master Qui-Gon," commented the Queen. "It's really very extraordinary!"

Qui-Gon smiled serenely and bowed to her, "Her highness underestimates her crew and their desire to complete the mission."

A soft smile played about the lips of the Queen and her gaze flitted momentarily to Obi-Wan, then back to Qui-Gon. "Perhaps you are right, Master Jedi. They are… More loyal and _self-sacrificing_ then I could ever have imagined."

"Master!" choked Obi-Wan as soon as they were out of the room that served as the throne room. "Does she know? Did you tell her?"

Qui-Gon stifled a chuckle, "No, Padawan, I did not. After all, I _did_ make a promise to you."

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, then said, "Master?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"As soon as I become a knight, I think I'm gonna grow a beard."

Qui-Gon was slightly startled, "Why?"

Obi-Wan flushed, "Because it'll help me look… Older."

Qui-Gon looked hard at him, every bit of his self-control striving to hold back the twitching of his lips.

Obi flushed deeper, "And… Maybe… Less… Recognizable."

"Ah yes," observed Qui-Gon, "To prevent you being called Jedi Knight Obi-Wan, master of potato chopping."

Obi-Wan groaned from the depths of his soul and pulled his hood over his face, "Please Master… Don't say that."


End file.
